I Was Born Sick
by Folded Papers
Summary: For all the genius he was, it certainly took Tony a while to learn of this "sickness" within. He'd liked them on the same team and that wasn't normal. He could fight this, cure this! First he took Steve out of the equation. The liquor and sex came after. Just, Steve wouldn't leave him alone. And that made it so much worse. A Stony fic inspired by Hozier's "Take Me to Church".
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, folks, how're you doing? ^^ This is my first Avengers fanfic, and I've just started reading the comics these few months, so I hope I get the characterisation of Steve and Tony correct here... please review and let me know what you think about the characters, writing, plot. I meant this to be a one-shot but it got longer, so I'm breaking this off into several parts. Thank you for reading!**

* * *

 _My lover's got humour,_

 _She's the giggle at a funeral,_

 _Knows everybody's disapproval,_

 _I should've worshipped her sooner._

"Steve, can I talk to you for a sec?"

Steve was pouring milk from a carton as he listened rapturously to Natasha. To Tony, it looked very much like a one-sided monologue – with Natasha doing most of the yapping – as Steve nodded or hummed on cue.

It was early morning. Sunlight streaming into the Avengers Tower through the high windows. 50 floors below, Manhattan's traffic still relatively drowsy. Tony had been awake for a full hour; he washed up, had a PowerBar and deliberated in the common sitting area in hope of catching Steve as he return from his morning jog. He lucked out when the Head of R&D from Stark International requested an urgent teleconference. Tony obliged, so he retreated to his office for 10 mins or so before returning to his waiting in the hall. _Steve still wasn't there._ Now Tony wasn't much accustomed to waiting for others, it usually was the other way around. All these called for another cup of coffee and _there_ he found Steve, a towel about his shoulders, listening to Natasha prattling off some choice words to describe her assignment that would've costed her a leg – in a very literal sense – if it weren't for Clint's quick wit. Tony had waited long enough. He couldn't spare another half an hour waiting for Steve to finish playing Dr Phil so he sort of rapped his knuckles against the door and threw them his trademark megawatt smile. He'd asked for Steve.

He nodded once, returned his half-empty cup to the counter and followed Tony to the still vacant sitting room.

"What's the matter?"

"You were right."

Steve angled his head slightly, perplexed. "You all right?"

"No, I mean yes, I'm fine, but listen, you were right, Steve. As much as it pains me to admit it."

"OK. Back up. Start from the beginning."

"Big man in a suit of armour. Take that off, what am I?"

"Oh God," Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. "I said that because you were acting like an ass. We all were, but we're past that."

"I know that. I'm saying I hear you, and I know that under that suit, I'm just a man. Vulnerable," his voice cracked a bit. "A liability to the team, and let's face it, I can't always be inside the suit now can I?"

"You sure you're all right?"

"Yes! For the love of – why do you keep asking me that?"

Steve's lips thinned and his brilliant blue eyes were so piercing they penetrate souls. Tony dreaded this. He dreaded the questions, the _fuss._ How about keeping it short and simple? Pop the question, get the "yes" he needed and zip right back to his workshop where the only thing worth probing is science. The billionaire sighed. He listed sideways, leaned his hips against the sofa.

"You heard about the inquiry at the DOD?"

"Just that you were summoned to one yesterday evening. What about it?"

"Brought out that horse so dead I can't believe it hasn't fossilised. That Iron Man is too intimidating to be allowed working on his own payroll. Their main concern is, what if Iron Man is… influenced, to a point where he – where I – become a national threat?"

"That's a heap of bull after all you've done for the country –"

"That was _exactly_ their point. What I'd done before. I was a war-monger once. I designed weapons, built 'em shipped 'em off at a moment's notice so they could kill whoever's unlucky enough to be on the other side. I've been on this side of the fence so far but they wanted someone _controllable_. And I'm just not that kind of schmuck."

"You are a valuable asset to the Avengers, one of the First. There won't be doubts on your allegiance, and I'm sure Fury will be able to tilt the odds –"

"They want someone military piloting the suit. Nothing I could do."

Steve turned fully to face Tony, appalled that he was done, that he was conceding to the DOD's demand. There was no humour in the other man's visage, just a half-scowl and the general air of defeat uncanny for a Stark. They'd asked for Iron Man before. Tony warded them off. So they asked for it again, and Tony stood his ground. Certainly this time wasn't any different?

"You're not seriously considering giving up the suit, are you?"

"You win some, you lose some, Cap. I've decided, I'm turning it in first thing tomorrow morning. Rhodey is taking over, that much I get to convince them. Which brings us back to my point."

Tony chewed on his tongue. But he knew he had to ask this of Steve. "Can you teach me how to fight? I'm not allowed in the suit anymore – at least, not for the time being – but I'll still need to be able to defend myself. So, what d'you say?"

Easier said than done, they realised, because no matter how hard they tried, they just couldn't make the training session routine. Steve was constantly on-call for SHIELD and Tony, despite being temporarily benched from field duties after losing piloting rights to Iron Man, either had research to do or company matters to attend to. They did try to squeeze in at least four hours a week, and given the unpredictability of the lives of Captain America and a genius billionaire playboy philanthropist, the best hours were usually after.

Thursday, 1.30 a.m. – that was the appointment today. Tony didn't have much on this week, in fact he was mostly working from home, from his office on the upper floor of the Tower. Nothing heavy duty; corporate decisions to make, industrial designs to approve, the same ol' same ol'. Steve was on recon in South America – where exactly in the continent he was not able to say, but he did promise to make it back for the sparring.

Sparring. How far had they come. When they first started out, it was mostly Steve showing some moves and Tony monkeying after. In under a week he got most of the forms down, and they proceeded to actually executing them in combat. Tony got excited; he imagined it to involve pummelling Captain America to the ground when Steve disappointingly appeared with a pair of arm guards and told him to work on the targets. They focused on his speed and momentum for two more weeks before Steve finally decided that they should start sparring for real. Naturally within the first hour Steve almost broke Tony's ribs. Steve wasn't aware that the grisly surgery of implanting the metal housing for the arc reactor involved removing up to 35 percent of the bone mass, significantly weakening the cage's structure as a whole. Steve saw an opening, he took it. Tony saw him coming. Yet, no matter how brilliant he was a tactician in mind, his body simply could not overcome the inertia. Not a moment too soon Steve realised that Tony was unable to parry and had pulled back before the punch collided in full force. Tony still found himself thoroughly winded on the mat, but otherwise thankfully intact.

Steve did not apologise, and for that he was grateful. Subsequent hits came slower, weaker though enough to leave bruises. He did not complain, but he knew one day he was going to force Steve's hands.

Tony hoped today would be it.

When he strolled into the gym he found the interiors pitch black till motion sensors detected his presence. He squinted, adjusting to the bright unforgiving fluorescent lights. To the left corner of the gym there was an all-grey punching bag suspended from the ceiling. Tony approached it, ran a hand down the rough exterior. Kevlar, as it were, because Steve's merciless hits wore them off so fast as if they were made of gelatine. Even the filling was enhanced packed sand because, Captain America. Tony flattened his palm against it, and though he knew it wouldn't budge anyway, he pushed, appreciating the weight of the bag.

That was Steve in essence. A pillar of strength in trying times, the voice of reason in a world that rarely made sense.

"Hey," a deep rumble came from the entrance. Tony turned to the newcomer.

"Cap! So good to see you!"

Steve looked like he'd just gotten out of shower. Fresh and clean, from the top of his damp blonde tussles all the way down to his bare feet. But it was the black eye that caught Tony's attention.

"I thought it was just recon?"

"It was a trap. Well, kind of. They expected a couple of grunt level agents, so just a couple of grenades and a short shoot-out –"

"Nothing Captain America couldn't handle," Tony supplied, smiling.

"They certainly didn't expect him."

"You sure that's all the souvenir you brought back? Have you gone to the infirmary, just in case?"

"Nah, just this one," Steve gestured to the side of his face that was already turning yellowish green, the colour of aged bruise soon to fade. Tony relented and moved towards the centre of the open court.

"If you're feeling nice and perky, let's get the ball rolling, shall we?"

Steve chuckled. He now stood several feet away from the billionaire.

"All right, come at me, Tony."

They danced around each other in the dead of night, like shadows intertwined when they meet, two predators poised for the next attack when apart. There was a difference to his rhythm this time; almost as if Steve was goading him, only returning blows when he was on the receiving end. The lacklustre intensity was exasperating. Tony came down with an objective in mind; he wanted to graduate from academy of greenhorn martial arts practitioner to an opponent worthy of Steve Rogers.

He managed to land a hit on Steve's right shoulder; the super soldier staggered backwards, more from the surprise than the force of it. Tony grinned cheekily. He was confident he might be able to get Steve to come at him with all he got after all. Tony scored the next hit as well, this time by suddenly dropping to the ground and swiping Steve clean off his feet, who promptly fell on his back with a satisfying thud.

"Hah! Say my name, Steve!"

Steve groaned from his spot. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, and then just let them flop by his sides as he stared at the ceiling above. Tony came closer and nudged at the prone form with his toes.

"You wanna tell me what's bothering you?"

"That obvious huh?"

"I'd like to take 100% credit for kicking the great Captain America's posterior in a one-on-one, but hey, I've got standards. Your attacks were 2% slower, there wasn't as much power in them, and you left openings so wide I could've actually dropped you three more times –"

"I do _not_ –"

"I could've flung you across the room too –"

"That'll be a sight to see."

"Sure it is."

Steve inhaled, slow and deep, and stretched on the mat. Tony glanced at the wall clock and saw it was 2.30 a.m. Steve just flown in from somewhere-he-could-not-say, it'd been a long day, maybe it was better to just hit the sack after all.

"Tony," Steve started, not taking his eyes away from the high ceiling, "how do you handle that, not knowing what's going to be done to Iron Man?"

Tony shove his hands into the baggy pockets of his sweat pants. He regarded both the question and the man on the floor carefully, not quite understanding where Steve was coming from. "In a way I do. Genius, remember? They're not gonna write me a nice e-mail whenever they decide to deploy it of course, but I have my sources, my backdoors to getting any information I needed. Plus I've got Rhodey behind the suit and I trust him to do the right thing."

"Things used to be simpler back then."

"Welcome to the future, Cap. Might not be what you wanted, but it's the only one we got."

"Might want to start doing away with 'compartmentalisation'. Secrecies, distrust… shortcuts to segregation and disunity."

"Compartmentalisation is efficient," Tony rebutted coolly. He was starting to rock on the ball of his feet. "You know what you need to know, and do what you're assigned to do, which is usually what you do best. It's good for maximising output in any organisation."

"Bottom lines. Yeah. All decided by one guy."

"Who in turn is advised by a council."

"Those kept in the dark will beg to differ."

"Weren't you in the Army? Thought you all dig the take-orders-no-questions regime?"

"And I thought all Starks are rebellious by nature?"

"Systems are in place for a reason, Steve. Good reasons. You may not see –"

In that split second that escaped Tony's reflex, Steve hooked his leg around Tony's ankles and pulled. As he fell Steve caught him by the shoulders and waist, used the momentum to roll them both over a short distance and pinned Tony firmly to the ground. He was utterly stunned, his mouth agape and his brown eyes as wide as a dish.

Now Steve laughed lightly. "Constant vigilance, Tony."

They were almost touching, their noses mere inches away from each other. Tony could feel Steve's heat radiating and a firm pinch on his flesh where Steve was holding him down like a vice. Instinctively he bucked, trying to _get away,_ but Steve had him good. The most he could do was shift his leg a bit, and when he realised Steve's was kneeling, straddling him, and that when he tried to buck the Captain off he'd only managed to slide his thigh against Steve's. Tony froze, didn't dare to move, didn't dare to breathe, and he thought the world had miraculously stopped. Just as suddenly as he found himself beneath Steve, the tension lifted he pulled himself up, but not before clapping Tony apologetically on his breast twice. Tony took Steve's proffered hand appreciatively but gave him the dirty look all the same.

"Thanks, by the way. You're right, and I don't mean to be… difficult."

This… future, or present rather, was in a way, worlds apart from the one Steve envisioned. The world had grown, gotten a tad more complex, and it was something ingrained into the sub-consciousness of Men, Tony liked to think, that Men liked order in chaos. Men _needed_ order. Conformation. A system, in other word, to keep all the little things under control. Unfortunately time and again what was meant to be a responsibility was twisted into a privilege for a select few, to govern the herd while the rest faded into arbitrary dots, parts of dreary statistics.

"Is there something SHIELD is keeping from you?" Tony asked, his voice slightly raw.

Captain Rogers had a bird-eye view on things in the 40's. Now he had this unbelievable amount of catching up to do with what's contemporary. Some called it the end of his relevancy. Despite going back to doing what he did best, serving the country and its people, ignorance as to how the system work still plagued him. Ignorance had threshold. Patience had threshold.

"I guess all these things are starting to get a little frustrating somehow."

Tony hummed emphatically. He reached out for a hug or a pat on the arm maybe, but quickly stuffed his fists into his pockets again.

"I don't know why they won't let you know stuff especially if it's something you're directly involved in _,_ and I'd welcome input from Captain America. What, I am capable of saying nice things once in a while, you know. And I mean it. Anyway, you'll learn to deal with it, but if you need some, let's say _intel_ , you know where to find me. If there's something Captain America isn't allowed to know, then _I_ want to know it too."

Tony winked, and walked past Steve, leaving the super soldier alone in the gym. It was 2.45 a.m., and his heart was beating so hard in his ears he didn't hear the door close behind him.

Two days later a call came from SHIELD; Steve had a follow-up assignment, this time to Germany. Another stealth mission was all he could gather from the two-minute long conversation. He was to leave by 2 p.m. that day so at lunchtime Tony, the only Avenger left in the Tower found Steve sitting at the edge of the dining table forking his meatball spaghetti with zero gusto. Oddly enough, the billionaire who had a penchant for fiddling with his phone whenever he had company had resolutely stowed the offending device although Steve was obviously not in the mood for talking.

The only time Steve spoke was to inform Tony that he was leaving again for a week. Where exactly, for what purpose, Steve didn't mention, so Tony didn't ask.

It pained him somehow when Steve set his plate in the dishwasher and turned his back against the kitchen. His shoulders were drooping pensively, and from his distant stares Tony knew he was still finding it difficult to come to terms with how things were being run at SHIELD. Tony had always had issues with authorities – mostly because they had outstanding track record of being dunces – but he'd accepted the rules of the games and since learned to play by them.

Steve was far too honourable for that.

Tony was looking forward to the following Tuesday. Not because his mornings were choking with meetings about patent applications on multiple concepts and prototypes, or the 3-hour field visit to a factory at Long Island afterwards. Steve was coming home. The anticipation made the earlier parts of the day stretched longer, but when he finally got onto Happy's car at 6 p.m. he felt inexplicably peppy.

Tony thought of showering and eating before waiting up on Steve, but upon hearing dull murmurs from the living room he started for it, ignoring the welcome of his private elevator.

There was no one else save for the unmoving lump occupying the lush three-seater sofa; Steve was snoring softly, still clad in his SHIELD-issued uniform, the dark blue threads a contrast to his pale skin. He didn't move as Tony switched the TV off or sank into a footstool beside him. The Kevlar gloves he wore to missions lay uselessly on the coffee table, specks of dried blood on his boots. Tony checked Steve for visible injuries; his suit was ripped at the sleeves but nothing seemed life-threatening, just a couple of lacerations and newly-formed scabs. Tony shook Steve's knees gently, not wanting to startle the sleeping soldier.

"Steve? Come on, you'll rest better in your own bed."

Steve's breath deepened; he blearily opened his eyes before pinching the bridge of his nose, hard. He turned to Tony and gave a small fond smile. Tony hadn't seen that in a while.

"I've missed a friendly face."

"I'm desirable, so I've been told. Up you go, Cap. Go shower and get some sleep."

Still, he remained where he was, slumped in fatigue. Tony was about to physically haul him up when he spoke in a whisper, "It wasn't a recon mission, Tony. Not really."

He looked twice as weary than Tony last remembered. Tony laced his fingers together, nodding, urging him to continue.

"SHIELD picked up paper trails leading to a start-up company in Stuttgart. As far as we know, they didn't have any mentionable trades to account for that loaded bank account of theirs. Company started showing up on the radar when we caught them stockpiling on… something. That detail was left out in the briefing.

"I was there with a team for surveillance. We kept our distance, studied their routines and movements. On the sixth day, they cleared out."

Tony sighed, "Sounds like a botched assignment. You gave yourselves away, they ran for it."

"Or they took the message and stopped."

Steve straightened up in his seat and retrieved his gloves from the table. There were specks of blood on them too.

"It looked like they'd ceased operation. Hardly anyone show up for work the next day and there were trucks coming in for the computers and papers. Our next order was to stand down and in 24 hours, go home. At dawn of our last day, the basement blew apart. Plastic explosives. Three casualties on our side.

"To be a damn mascot, Tony. That was my real mission. Apparently SHIELD had been trying to shut the operation down. Sure got a funny way of doing it. Weren't even considering bringing them in for questioning."

"You're SHIELD's insurance. You were there to scare them off?"

Steve heaved a sigh. See? Dunces. Who was the buttwipe that decided it was better to lose a bunch of terrorists-wannabe, risking them going underground again than to haul them in for interrogation? Intelligence gathering 101 – did someone miss a lecture or something?

"What am I doing here again, Tony?"

* * *

 _If the heavens ever did speak,_

 _She's the last true mouthpiece,_

 _Every Sunday's getting more bleak,_

 _A fresh poison each week,_

" _We were born sick," you heard them say it._

Steve got a month off from SHIELD duties after being on-call since forever; Tony couldn't recall a time Steve lay off the SHIELD-issued getup ever since he moved to the Tower. Even the undershirt he put on for his morning runs bore the distinct eagle emblem on the sleeves. And it must be kismet, because Pepper decided Tony too should take the weekend off after two long months of hard work. "Even the Chairman deserved a break," so she said. So Steve was free, Tony was free. And some special cluster of stars must be aligned up there because Pepper next brought him a fancy red envelope embossed with phoenixes that was addressed to the Malibu mansion. The sender was Anna Wei, apparently now owner of a soon-to-be-opened Chinese restaurant in downtown New York. That was an invitation to come for the opening ceremony. He remembered her, employee of back-then Stark Industries, talented computer programmer, and she'd given him _wonderful_ memories. Might've saved his life that one time too. Tony smiled ruefully and considered sending a wreath and apologies for not being able to make appearance when Steve sauntered into the hall with his laptop. He saw Tony, said hey, and claimed an armchair for himself.

Tony asked if Steve had plans that Saturday, because he was invited to someplace and he'd like Steve to come along. Steve said OK.

On his insistence though, they took the train down instead of the Audi R8. That was how Tony found themselves rocking back and forth in hard plastic seats as the train trudge down the railway. They didn't speak much, just basking in companionable silence when a large group on Indian tourists flooded the coach they were occupying. They both stood up and gave their seats to the elderlies and edged towards a relatively unoccupied corner. Relatively, Tony highlighted, because when he was with a 6 feet 4 super soldier, extra shoulder space became immediately a rare commodity. As the train climbed in speed and they swayed with the momentum, Tony gained an increasing awareness for Steve's shampoo, and when he cast his eyes lower all he could see was the large expanse of Steve's chest. Memories from the gym that night hit him in full embarrassing force, and Tony found himself chewing his bottom lips. He twitched, anxious and awkward as he stood, and his knee brushed against Steve's. He didn't know they were standing that close.

Tony faked a cough and motioned for Steve to find an emptier couch. As Steve manoeuvred his large frame around, Tony let out a breath he didn't realise he was holding.

Something was _wrong_ with him.

Happily Tony didn't get to dwell much on his predicament as they reached their stop in under 10 minutes. The restaurant was strategically located nearby. Not that it was hard to miss; the feel of the entire premise was, like every bit Anna was, audacious. As they stood on the curb waiting for traffic to break, Tony studied the rough surface of the walls, painted black, with half-tinted windows framed in gold. Red lanterns bearing Chinese characters he couldn't read hung regally from the roof. Steve had to tap at his arm, jostled him from his reverie and they both finally crossed the road. Anna wasn't difficult to locate amidst the crowd; she was standing by the grand entrance, still as ravishing as Tony remembered. Her red cheongsam had yellow chrysanthemum motives along the front and her glossy black hair was held up in a tight bun. Her smile was dazzling, her eyes illuminated with pride and joy. Tony found himself smiling too. They'd come a long way since then, and from the bottommost of his heart, he was distinctly proud of Anna too.

"Tony? Oh my god, you came!"

Heavens know how a woman could run so fast in high heels but Anna did just that before she launched herself into Tony. The billionaire laughed, the widest grin carved onto his face, and he held her tight. It had been so long.

"I'm just so happy to see you here!"

"I got your card."

"I was sure your assistant would toss it away."

He did have people in charge of filtering his mails and messages. Only Pepper was allowed to handle those addressed to his domiciles and she operated on a different selection criteria all together. Reason why this card made it to the Tower. Tony didn't know how Pepper did it, she just knew.

"Anna, this is Captain Rogers."

They shook hands. Anna seemed mesmerised by the Cap (who doesn't) and she only let go of him when Tony cleared his throat very, very loudly.

"Congratulations, Ms Wei. This is a beautiful restaurant."

"Thank you, Captain. I hope the décor isn't the only lasting impression you get though," she said, her eyes twinkling. "We put together some of the most creative Chinese cuisines on the menu for the night. My son will be playing the pipa, if you decide to hang out till late."

"Looking forward, ma'am," Steve promised.

"I've set you up at table 14. I know you like your privacy, Tony," she added, her slender fingers touching his cuffs for the briefest of moment. "Enjoy yourself tonight, gentlemen."

"You two seem to know each other very well," Steve offered as they flitted between the mass. The interior too was tastefully decorated, generous with hues of red and gold. The phoenix seemed to be a favourite motive; it graced the contours on tall pillars, wood panels separating the dining area from the kitchen and lavatory, the stage. Wide mirrors installed near the back enlarged their perception of space. Table 14 was tucked away nicely from the crowd, not nearly flushed to the walls or behind one of those columns, neither was it too close to the stage nor any exits.

"We had history," Tony stated simply, declining elaboration. Steve nodded, and as he took his seat opposite Tony, he said no more.

Over a pot of pu-erh and a serving of the famed beggar's chicken, Steve ostensibly relaxed in the slightly chaotic atmosphere. Their neighbours were discussing something rather vociferously in Cantonese – Tony heard every single word but in all honesty it didn't count as eavesdropping since they spoke loudly first and he didn't understand a thing. There was laughter all around but none of the mirth seemed to affect Steve. He brought Captain Gloomy out for a reason, and so far it hadn't been turning out well. Tony decided this called for a more barefaced approach.

"All right," Tony placed his chopsticks pointedly across the rim of his rice bowl. "You can brood for the rest of the year, or you can start talking."

Steve looked at him, stunned at first, and then to their surprise, he laughed. The first, open laughter in weeks. Steve too put down his chopsticks.

"Thank you, Tony. For this – all of it."

"You're welcome. I think," he said woodenly as he twiddled the edge of the tablecloth. "Remind me, for what?"

"For being honest with me. A quality this world should see more of."

"Amen to that."

"I don't know, maybe I'm the one who's too stubborn to evolve, change, to try to fit in with the future. Obviously a lot of time has passed. It's not the 40's anymore. And I can't stay stuck in there."

"You're fine as you are. Your innocence is precious."

"Innocence? I've fought wars, I've killed."

"People these days don't see things in black and white anymore. It could be green now, red the next. Convenient bullshit to further selfish agendas. You know, I dare say 60% of the world's greatest problems shouldn't even existed if not for the puerility of human beings. Transparency is good, Cap. And you're just that."

"You're saying you can _read_ me?"

"Like an open book, sure."

Steve watched Tony picked up his chopsticks and prodded the half-eaten chicken. He shook his head in amusement, but picked his bowl up all the same. Suddenly there was a sharp clink as Tony's chopsticks rested on it, laying a shitake mushroom on the fluffy rice. His eyes were dark, solemn. Sincere.

"You're our leader, Steve. You are the anchor that all of us hold on to, God knows what we'd without. Probably having a go at each other every Thursday night instead of coming together for a greater purpose. And we choose to follow _you_ to whatever ends. If everything goes down to the dogs, well, you still have me. So stop doubting your place here with us."

There.

Steve used the rest of his month-long leave to great use. He read more, went out more. There was less and less of searches on his past – the Howling Commando, the war – but more and more bookmarks on world politics from the 50's to present day. He even tried setting up a Facebook account after Pepper told him people get their daily feeds from it. He'd wriggled his nose a bit when Pepper warned him to take everything on Facebook (or the Internet in general) with a grain of salt. Then he went on YouTube and Tony hoped JARVIS still diligently clean it up of scandalous vids – what was that about again, about him not wearing clothes?

His mood improved and he opened up more. Not as obnoxiously as Tony who tended to dominate chit-chats over breakfast, but enough that people were starting to hover around him for reasons beyond the fact that he was Captain America.

Tony hadn't been unaware of how his own heart stuttered as Steve laughed uninhibitedly at jokes Clint or Natasha made, or when he insisted on cleaning up after movie nights despite having hired helps for that. Tony found the almost child-like manner of him scratching his eye and yawning after staring at the computer screen for too long endearing. He told himself that it was the stress of managing the Avengers and Stark International. He'd been lonely. He missed the intimacy and attention of a good company over a meal. Didn't even have to be in Shangri-La.

So when he came home to a bowl of soggy mac' and cheese Steve had cooked after his morning run, he was so taken he didn't realise he had all but buried his forehead in the back of Steve's neck. The ladle clattered against the pot as he turned to grab Tony around the elbows.

"Hey, you OK?"

"Morning," Tony said unenthusiastically. He lifted his head and realised, perhaps too late, what he'd just done. He backed off so fast he bumped into the dining chair that it scrapped cacophonously against the tiled floor.

"Easy there, tiger. I'm not shooting anyone so early this morning," Natasha greeted. Her slender frame appeared out of nowhere – not entirely comforting.

Tony lay his briefcase haphazardly by the leg of the table before he too sank into the chair that had jabbed him painfully in his hipbone. Steve served him the mac' and cheese he was making. Then he palmed Tony's forehead.

Natasha whistled, though not quite looking at the spectacle before her. She took the spoon and starting eating out of Tony's bowl.

"I have more in the pot, Nat. And Tony, you're burning."

He peeled Steve away from him and wrestled the spoon from Natasha. He tucked into breakfast grimly, trying his very best to ignore two pairs of raised eyebrows.

"I thought you won't be back until Wednesday?"

"Earthquake. We shut the plant down when a foreman spotted cracks in the west wing. Reparations commencing today. I flew out yesterday night."

"Is it OK to leave?"

"Yeah, nothing I can do for the time being. The plant visit is rescheduled to… next week maybe? And the board meeting is due for this term, so I have to be in town anyway," he groaned, his forehead now finding solace on the cool table top.

Both were about to go mother hen on Tony when JARVIS interrupted with an urgent call for the Avengers to assemble. All three stiffened as the bodiless AI calmly stated that "a black army in masks has surrounded a university in Crimean Federal District of Russia, with a confirmed sighting of Crossbones." Tony did not miss how Steve's eyes steeled at the mention of the name.

"Meet you guys at the roof. JARVIS, get Mark VII ready."

Steve pushed Tony back into his seat with absurd ease. He regarded the feverish billionaire with a frown, a weak semblance of apology.

"You're sitting this one out, Tony."

He nodded curtly at Natasha, and soon they were gone. Tony slouched dejectedly as he watched his team mates calling orders through the comm. The last evidence of their presence was Steve's heavy footsteps disappearing beyond the foyer. He poked at a random pea in his bowl, trying to quench the growing sense of uneasiness that was forming in the pit of his stomach.


	2. Chapter 2

Hello guys. :( This piece is not getting enough love, I'm starting to worry if it's because it is hidden from the general publishing list or it really is a badly written fic. This is the second chapter, please enjoy!

* * *

Tony's temperature climbed with every hour to the point that his hands started shaking they were completely useless for soldering. He placed the hot iron back in its holder and leaned heavily in his seat. He gave up. His body wouldn't co-operate, his mind was a blurry mess and there was this nagging feeling of something had gone wrong that he just couldn't explain. Nobody would respond to his hey-what's-going-on-out-there social phone call to SHIELD either. The fact that Tony had the Tower all to himself for the past four days meant it was something big because all Avengers were called down. On any normal day this would be heaven. He didn't expect there would come a day he'd actually miss every single cape-wearing SOB. He coughed into his fist and flicked stray tears from the corner of his eyes. Last time he had a cold was a year ago. He rarely fall sick but when he did, he fall hard.

"U, clean this place up. JARVIS, commence defrag and shut down."

"As you wish, Sir."

Tony trudged to the cot around the corner and collected the ugly yellow blanket now a sad pile on the floor. He wrapped it around himself appreciatively, relishing what warmth it provided as he shivered. If Bruce were around he knew there would be porridge in the slow cooker.

As the elevator took him to his pent house, the hem of the yellow blanket sweeping the floor behind him, his eyes glanced over a beautifully fixed watercolour painting of New York nightline. It was Steve's, but he gave it to Tony as a birthday present when the billionaire expressed an interest for it. Kind of. Tony didn't actually tell Steve it was a lovely piece of art and he wanted it very much and he'd totally take down the Pollock for this, but it was still pretty obvious; one evening Steve had the wet product perched by the window (better aeration) and had gone to get himself a cup of coffee, and when he got back he caught Tony staring at it for a good five minute obviously thinking that nobody was watching.

Tony didn't think he thanked Steve for the gift, what more accepted it graciously, but he hung it above his favourite armchair in the sitting room nonetheless.

And as his eyes took in the carefully laid strokes of acrylic marring the canvas sheet, the knot in his stomach resolved. It was all so weird, Tony felt like he'd found the solution to the mystery that had been bugging him all day long. The only thing was, he didn't even know what mystery it was supposed to be. Tony ghosted course fingertips down the painting. He didn't frame it, never really got around to doing it, but it was perfect like this. Intimate, bare.

"Sir, Captain Rogers has returned to New York," JARVIS intoned.

"He has? This is pretty sudden isn't it? Did I miss a post-mission message or something? What about the others?"

Usually when the Avengers, part or whole, were despatched on an assignment, the most they were allowed to say were the geographical approximation of the intended target and its duration. Steve had a different style in approaching the whole thing; though he wasn't the sentimental kind who'd weep and hug before he left for work, he'd re-arrange the throw pillows in the sitting room, stock up the fridge, change the sheets of his bed and manually lock the windows. Little things that he did for comfort to look forward to when he comes home. Then after the mission, even before debriefs he'd send short messages to a couple of people. The usual recipients include Sharon Carter, Sam Wilson and Tony himself. Nothing revealing, just that he was done with the job, not hurt, and was coming home soon.

Tony didn't know if Sharon and Sam ever replied to these messages, but Tony personally never did. Maybe just that one time when news channels worldwide reported a catastrophic bombing at a rally in Turkey where casualties were racked to three digits, and Steve was supposedly sent there for recon.

"The other Avengers have not reported in. Captain Rogers however is currently in the Prebysterian Hospital –"

"He is what?"

Tony was already half-marching to Steve's bedroom. He tried the door, half-hoping that Steve didn't lock it, and when the knob turned he went straight for the wooden wardrobe. Steve was going to need fresh clothes, Tony's mind raced as he pulled baggy cotton shirts and sweatpants into a luggage. He spotted a couple of dress shirts, he noticed Steve liked to throw them over plain T-shirts he usually wear under and stowed two of those in the bag too. Button-ups could be easier to put on if Steve couldn't move his arms properly. If, that is. Tony didn't know how bad a shape he was in, but if something could put Captain America to ICU…

"Captain Rogers' clinical assessment is not found on the hospital's database. I do detect an hourly update on the Captain's condition that is fed directly to SHIELD's medical. Shall I infiltrate that database instead?"

"No, not necessary. I –"

Tony got up from his crouching position a little too quickly he saw a burst of white and a sharp pain where his elbow collided with the wardrobe as he listed too much to his right. JARVIS was calling him; that he was faintly aware of. His head was too cottony to make out what the exact words were, and frankly he didn't care much. He scooped the luggage into his arms and zipped it close hastily.

"A taxi has been called in to take you to the hospital, Sir. It shall be here in six minutes."

Tony nodded, too breathless to thank his AI, not that JARVIS needed it. He took the elevator down, his burning forehead flat against the cool metal wall as he willed it to go faster.

* * *

When Steve came to he felt a sudden urge to scratch his nose. He fidgeted a bit but the itch wouldn't go away, so he scratched at it, and that was when real panic sank it.

He couldn't move.

Steve was not used to not being able to move. Hell when he woke up for the first time in 70 years he was already able to outrun modern cars down New York streets – an accomplishment without physiotherapy, mind. Was this paralysis? Some sort of nerve damage – was it permanent?

Tony. Tony would answer him. He'd tell him the truth.

And Tony was just there beside him. Steve squinted at the unmoving form beside him. The room was dimly lit; he could see the blinds drawn close 'round the far window and the ceiling lights were off. He was certain it was Tony by his bed; though the billionaire was clearly seating on a chair, he was slumped forward that his head was resting on the empty spot of Steve's hospital bed, the black matted hair a stark contrast against the white sheets. Tony's hand was closed in a fist around Steve's blanket.

Steve next tried to work his throat and lips. Just one word, dammit.

"To…ny…"

A dusty attempt. Tony didn't stir. Steve swallowed thickly. And hell, that hurt. He tried again.

"Tony?"

That didn't work either. Through thick fog of numbness, Steve felt a pang of concern. Tony might not have enhanced hearing prowess but he was sensitive to sounds – he remembered the billionaire had flicked a wad of paper at Clint at the back of the head when he heard the assassin talking under his breath while Tony was going through a presentation about the Quinjet upgrades. Probably why Tony could response with no lag times when he did impromptu meetings with Pepper down in the workshop with Black Sabbath blaring through the stereos.

Steve focused all the attention he could afford into that tiny point in his index finger. He managed a twitch. OK, so far so good, now let's try poking the why-are-you-not-awake-by-now Tony.

Tony let out a deep, throaty rumble and sucked in breath like he'd just surfaced from a long dive in the pool. Steve watched, allowing the other man to gather his bearing, scratch his chin absentmindedly and thumb dried drool from the corner of lips. Then he blearily turned his focus to a very much awake Steve, and promptly jumped in his seat.

"Oh geez – you're up – are you – OK stay put, and don't think about falling asleep, I'm calling the doctor –"

He left the ward mid-sentence, leaving a vacuum in his absence. Steve sighed as he heard quickened steps from the corridor and Tony talking a bit too loudly and quickly to the petite nurse beside him. He lay there letting her take his pulses, BPs, the work, even flashed a light into his eyes and all the while Tony stood against the wall with his arms crossing his chest. He watched the nurse working intently and Steve thought he would have to remind Tony that it was rude to stare at a lady's posterior even if she wasn't looking. Especially if she wasn't looking. But when she fiddled with the knob of the cardiac monitor, he noticed Tony's eyes followed her fingers, and when she returned to fuss over Steve, Tony was still eyeing the numbers on the screen, a slight frown forming on his brows. Then his eyes met Steve's.

"Captain, everything looks fine. The doctor has been informed and she'll come to check on you soon, but in the meantime do you feel –"

Tony started hacking into his fist. Half his body was shaking like a leaf and he took off, the door clicked softly behind him. The nurse went on asking him simple questions, just to make sure he was lucid and not showing signs of acute amnesia, but as he answered, his enhanced hearing allowed him to discern Tony's voice amidst the chatters along the corridor; to be precise, his coughs, wet and phlegmy.

The nurse left soon and Tony returned quickly after, his face flushed with exertion.

"Hey, Cap. Congratulations, by the way. You just broke your record for number of bullets tanked in a mission. You're pushing five, so, let's not try to break this one, shall we?"

"You look terrible."

Tony was going to retort when another wave of coughs washed over him. He held his stomach as he hacked, this time a faint acrid bite at the back of his tongue.

"It's just a stupid cold," he groaned as he sank into his chair, once again flopping over the barren side of Steve's bed. "Oh wait, Captain America won't ever get the bug. I was going to sneeze at you or something, make your life more miserable than it already is."

"You got to take care of yourself better, Tony."

"Hey I'm not the one riddled with 9 mm rounds."

"When was the last time you get some sleep?"

"You got me worried, Steve."

He went back to fisting a small corner of the blanket petulantly and hid his face in it, Steve's hand mere inches away from Tony's cheeks. When the doctor came in like the nurse said she would, Tony remained where he was, apparently asleep in that very position. As courteous as Steve could, with as big a smile he could muster, he told the doctor he felt fine.

The doctor ended up fussing over him from the other side of the bed, as hushed as she could, leaving Tony to slumber on beside Steve's bed undisturbed.

Tony himself was getting better; he stayed by Steve's side as often as he could, sometimes he even brought SI paperwork with him and he spent the night in a cot next to Steve. The Captain tried to shoo the billionaire home since there wasn't really a need for both of them to suffer through the stench of antiseptic and bright white light. Obviously to no avail, because Tony remained steadfastly by his side until the day he was discharged. On hindsight that was a better arrangement because Tony couldn't flood the ward with metal rock and work, so that meant he slept longer and more frequently.

That week they both recuperated together.

In under four days, Steve was certified fit to return to his SHIELD duties. Tony gave Fury the stink eye when the Director himself came to Steve at the Tower to relay the orders, but with a hefty amount of control Steve didn't knew Tony was capable of he held his tongue and went back to banging on his suit with a hammer.

Alas peaceful days didn't last long. On the 14th day after Steve got shipped back to New York and there were still no tangible news on the Avengers' status, Fury drove down again to the Tower, this time to tell them that the Avengers were still on the frontline. Thailand, apparently. Then JARVIS alerted them to an incoming call from Iron Man. Rhodey's voice came through, pitch slightly raised. Tony didn't like that one bit.

"Are you in Thailand with the rest of them?"

"Yeah, Tony – dammit, stay down – listen, we're gonna need backup. You got a spare suit somewhere?"

"Yes, but I'm not allowed –"

"The NSC greenlights your coming back to the fight."

The Avengers needed more backups?

"How's the situation down there, Rhodey?"

There was a pregnant pause as Iron Man was engaged with something on the other side; they could hear alarms and blasts, and Rhodey came back to the line. "I'm trying to stay alive until the backups get their asses over."

Tony huffed and put the tablet he was holding on the coffee table. "I'm reporting in."

"I'm coming with you."

"No, you're not."

"Yes, he is," Fury interjected. They both turned to the Director, slightly abashed that they forgot him standing in their midst. "Rogers is fit for duty and the Avengers are going to need all the help they can get."

"Then why are you here in my house and not talking fight arrangements with the X-Men or Fantastic Four?"

Fury turned away towards the elevator, his trench coat billowing. "They don't need more number. They need their leader."

The difference between starting the battle and joining one midway was, to Tony at least, his role in intelligence gathering and combat assessment. When the Quinjet finally deposited Captain America and (the original) Iron Man (this is not going to be confusing at all, Tony quipped before he jumped out of the plane with Steve holding onto the suit's shoulders) at the drop-off point, the first thing Tony did was to contact Natasha and Clint for the updates.

Up next was Steve. He quickly formulated a counter-strategy that put all the fighters on the jobs, taking advantage of each of their unique superpowers. Suddenly the battle was no more a mess of senseless carnage with Steve fronting it, his directives obeyed and their objectives clear. Tony was just the slightest bit envious that, amidst blasting robots and drones from the sky, he knew people would always defer to Steve no matter where he goes.

"Nice work, people," Steve spoke through the comm, his voice crisp with a hint of affection.

"It's good to have you back, Cap," Natasha replied next.

Tony was still hovering among the trees. The battle had more or less flattened a modest part of the forest – SHIELD and the Thai government were going to have a blast talking about the aftermath – but JARVIS picked up slight unrest from the eastern perimeter. Zooming around the general direction yielded nothing.

"Guys, keep your heads up. Something's still lurking around…" he said, the edge in his tone unmistakable.

"You got a hit on your radar?"

"Negative so far, but there are minute movements at the eastern – Steve!"

Three seconds was a long time. Three seconds, between life and death. Three seconds was all Tony needed to get to Steve.

JARVIS loaded all the remainder power to the suit's thrusters and Tony purposely leaned forward, needing to be there no matter how useless it was. His eyes, behind the impassive mask that was Iron Man, locked with Steve's, and Tony kept him in his view. The very ground beneath Steve shifted and Tony, even before his mind could register it, pointed his gauntlet at a very astonished Steve.

He fired.

There were howls of anguish and betrayals as the Avengers witnessed their Captain took the repulsor beam square in his chest and thrown off his feet to the far end of the clearing.

Then a scream of pure agony tore through the comm, and Tony's helmet.

A metalloid tentacle shot up from the loosened earth where Steve was standing mere seconds ago and swept Tony off in mid-air, a speck of red and gold against the grey sky, ricocheting off with the impact, boneless. Lifeless. Natasha spoke once through the comm, collected but obviously tense.

"Clint, get Cap and Tony out of here. Thor and Hulk, take it down, no holds barred. Tony said there's movement in the ground. That's got to be a control mechanism of some sort. I'm on it."

Or at least, what Tony managed to put together as his body tilted towards the ground and gravity began to do its work. In the deep recesses of his mind, before he himself plunged through branches and foliage, before he hit the mud and the suit de-powered, JARVIS phasing in and out of his senses, he wondered if Steve was OK.

Funnily enough, just as that very thought left his mind, he thought he saw a tuft of messy blonde hair beside him. It didn't look like he was having the Iron Man suit on; there was something soft and warm but kind of firm under him, and his head was cushioned by something fluffy, and the world looked more colourful than it normally would if he were looking out from the helmet. He didn't know where he was but he could identify the owner to that gorgeous head. He reached out to stroke lightly at it, like petting that little Chihuahua Pepper once had at home before she moved in to the Malibu mansion. Tony couldn't stand pets, so the dog wasn't invited and Pepper sent it to keep her parents company instead. This ain't no Chihuahuas, Tony guarantee you, as he continued his petting –

Ow fuck, is this for real?

The super soldier got up from the edge of Tony's hospital bed groggily, but the moment he saw Tony, eyes still wide opened like a dish, he stood up so fast the chair was almost upended.

"Oh God, this is – are you OK? They say you'd probably wake up in another day or two –"

Tony blinked sluggishly. "A day or two? Is this real? It sure feels real…"

"Yes, yes this is real. Are you in pain or… thirsty? D'you need a doctor –"

"What happened back there? Is everyone all right?"

Steve pinched his nose at that and slowly, he sank into his little chair. "By the time I was ready to join the fray Natasha had already activated the… thing's kill switch. It was over quickly. We found you a short distance away."

"Ah, goodie. All's well that ends well."

"You got me worried, Tony."

Déjà vu. The world stopped, no sounds, no movements, just Steve watching him. Just him and Steve, him in his bed after doing the stupidest thing he'd ever done, charging straight into the line of enemy attack for no other reasons than to put his own body in front of Steve's, between Steve and certain death. That was it, Tony knew he was done for.

What Steve meant to him had crossed the line of platonic brotherhood.

"Hmm. Will do it again if I have to."

"You shouldn't –"

"You can play mother hen after we get home, Steve. Now boo, scat. I got to go back to my beauty sleep, ya?"

 _The only heaven I'll be sent to,_  
Is when I'm alone with you,  
 _I was born sick,  
But I love it._

"I wish I could quit him, JARVIS."

"I'm sure you do, Sir."

"Mm. Agh! Wire's shot, shit…"

"Sir, I must remind you that the press conference is in one hour. Miss Potts had laid the suit out in your bedroom."

"Oh has she?" Tony swivelled around in his chair. A slight wince crept to his visage as he accidentally pulled on a nasty bruise on the side of his chest. "Where is she anyway?"

"Miss Potts has returned to the conference venue."

"She used to wait on me so we could go together…"

Tony took hold of the crutch that was leaning against the edge of the worktable. He'd been discharged for two days already and the first thing he did when he'd come home was to scratch that itch – the tinkering itch, that is. He'd kind of locked himself down in his workshop, going up to the common living area when he needed food or rest because JARVIS wouldn't shut up about it. It was Pepper's idea, he was sure of it, but he didn't quite have the heart to mute the nagging when it came.

"OK, I'm going up to change. Lock this place down and tell Pepper I'm being a good boy here so maybe I can have my cheeseburger for dinner tonight."

"Duly noted, Sir."

With one too many painful steps to his bedroom, he took the dry cleaned and pressed black jacket and blue dress shirt that was laid out carefully on his bed. He got into his pants, then wriggled into his shirt, cursed once or twice when his still-recovering-from-dislocation shoulders refused to bend obediently into the stupid sleeves, and when the only article left to put on was the jacket, Tony decided to glare at it until it decided to morph itself onto his body because nobody deserved so much agony dressing themselves up.

This all could be made easier if only Pepper decided to stay back for another five minutes.

"Need a hand?"

"Ow! Fuck…"

Large, strong arms were around him in a split second, holding him still as Tony pulled himself together. He realised he was already half-leaning into his visitor and what was wrong with this brick hard, chiselled chest because Pepper was soft like tofu last he checked.

"Oh fuck, Steve!"

"Stay still," Steve chided, slowly releasing his vice grip on the very grumpy billionaire. "You all right?"

"Never better."

"Miss Potts said I'd have to drag you up from the workshop and make sure you get ready by one-thirty."

Tony averted his glare from the jacket to the Captain. A small smile was playing on his lips and Tony couldn't find it in him to stay infuriated.

"Last I want is those vultures saying Captain America is running errands for Mr Stark."

"I'm here as a friend."

He picked the dark red necktie lying forlornly beside the jacket and held it ready before Tony, who merely shook his head.

"You'll need to look more formal than this."

"Oh, because Captain 1940 knows modern fashion."

"You are supposed to put on everything placed on the bed."

"And what else did Pepper ask you to do? Sweep the floor, walk the dog?"

"You got a dog?"

"No! I mean – oh forget it."

He swiped the tie brusquely from Steve and threw it back to the bed, joining the jacket in a pile of abandonment.

Tony knew Steve's patience was insurmountable, he'd known the guy for eons (feels like it anyway), and he knew he was being childish and he owed Steve an apology. But Steve didn't complain, and like the good man he was, he retrieved the tie and side-stepped Tony so he was standing directly behind him.

"Just stand still, all right?"

Then gently, deftly, Steve worked the tie into precise knots around Tony's collar. Steve's fluttering breath grazed his ears and the weight of those arms, steadfast and assuring resting on his shoulders - just the proximity of Steve to him was driving him into tachycardia.

What the fucking fuck…

"Thank you, for saving me."

Steve left the room after. Tony stood blankly by the bed, not really doing, or thinking for the matter, until JARVIS reminded him that Happy had arrived to take him to the press conference.

The entire affair was a one hour whirlwind of re-assigning blames and reassertion of where SHIELD and the Avengers stand in combating terrorism. No, SHIELD is an independent, international organisation that stands in between any terrorism-associated threats and the good people of the world, at large. Yes, even if aliens flew into Mexico, or Singapore, or freakin' South Pole you bet the Avengers will be there. No, it wasn't a guise of recon on a sovereign country – SHIELD doesn't care if Thailand government has twenty submarines or a spaceship loaded with nuke. Yes, NSC talks to SHIELD, who in turn talks to the Avengers, and why are you picking only on the Avengers when there are other superheroes going around doing exactly what they're doing? No, for God's sake, haven't you been listening, SHIELD and the Avengers are not property of the USA.

Tony sure hoped it didn't come out like that. He was thinking it, yeah… he glanced at Pepper and Steve who were standing a short distance away as he took the podium on the stage. They both had their arms clasped in stoic professionalism, their faces a stony mask so if they were not looking at him with murderous intents then he supposed everything was going swell.

Steve left New York after the press conference. He spoke briefly to Tony before he left, telling him to take care of himself and maybe he could come visit next month after his next SHIELD assignment.

When Tony was alone in his bedroom, his pants on the floor, his tie loosened as far as he could manage and the shirt unbuttoned half-way before he gave up, he sat on the brink of his bed and dipped his face in his palms. He tugged at the silky material of his tie and Steve, Steve and Steve filled the illogical compartment of his brain. He bumped his knuckles repeatedly into his forehead and asked himself, why did Steve affect him this way? He didn't have boobs for one.

Tony eased himself down on the bed, careful not to injure himself any more than necessary and snaked a hand down the waistband of his boxer. Right, he thought to himself, confused and annoyed all the same as he closed fully around the rigid shaft, where did that come from? He pumped himself deliberately, a playful tug near the tip and closed his eyes. Steve, Steve and fucking Steve, why could he only see Steve? A short sigh escaped his lips and he increased his speed, feeling that need pulsing deep in the pit of his lower abdomen.

Steve used to be a friend, a good friend. A brother. What changed?

Tony bit back a desperate moan as he arched into the bed, his climax racking the whole of his bruised and broken body. It hurt so much, but that was comfort, that was solace. He lay there in shame, a thin sheen of sweat around his neck and thighs, the viscous fluid running down his wrist and balls. Yep, he was definitely done for.


	3. Chapter 3

_Take me to church,_

 _I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies,_

 _I'll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife,_

 _Offer me that deathless death,_

 _Good God, let me give you my life_

Tony captured her lips in his. He felt her almost suck the air out of his lungs. His arm slinked around her. His palm trailed down her spine as he deepened the kiss, tongues battling for dominance. She submitted, but only when he tugged pointedly at the clasp of her bra. She almost purred at the anticipation.

He unhooked it.

He leaned forward and coaxed her gently to lay in his bed. Under the gentle moonlight, her soft breasts shrouded by the shadows, her nipples grew swollen at the attention Tony was giving. He teased at one lightly, playfully with the tip of his tongue, as he pinched at the other between two nimble fingers. She giggled, and ran a hand through his dark hair.

He didn't linger. He desired it hard and fast, just the way she needed him. His warm breath ghosted along her skin as he drifted lower, past her navel… where he dipped his tongue into it, eliciting another giggle from her… and then, his jackpot. She tensed slightly in shock when Tony hooked his arms below her knees and lifted, so that her legs were bent at the waist.

Her privates were still clothed in a delicate white underwear. But Tony didn't see all these in-between. He dived for what he came for, dug his nose into the sparse curls of pubic hair and prod and pushed at her with all he had.

Her moans drowned the sound of waves from the outside. Tony preferred the windows open at night, if only to get some salty breeze in. And reason why he'd only fuck people in this spare room; nothing but the open sky and a careless footing away to an assured dive towards treacherous rocks. Privacy. Tony yanked the semi-transparent article, drenched with her love juice and his saliva and tossed it over his shoulders.

He plunged his finger into her and she arched, taken entirely by surprise at the breach. No, Tony was a different animal when in the heat of pleasure. Unrecognisable. He wasn't the suave man who came to buy her drinks at the bar not too long ago. Surely not the witty billionaire the mass media adored. She just seemed to realise that the Tony Stark in bed was laconic. No matter, she didn't come all the way for a lecture. If going by the pace of him fingering around her entrance – rough, needy – she'd say his prowess in the bedroom deserved just as much adulation.

She gasped again when he curled his fingers. Her upper body curved, her back lifted almost completely from the mattress and her breast once more found its way into Tony's mouth. He sucked at the hardened nub as he rubbed at the clitoris, and he was relentless. She asked him to stop, to let her breathe, because she was so _close_ and she didn't want to take it all.

"I mean, you're still fully dressed," she choked out, teetering on the verge of absolute bliss.

"Point is you're not. For good reasons."

"Tony, _wait_ – I want to–"

He wasn't a selfish lover. He knew, as she moaned into the pillows, as she rolled her hips into his hand, and as her breathing hitched, he _knew_ he'd had her _._ Her orgasm sent her toes curling and Tony didn't stop stimulating her clit and nipple, slowing down the pace as she rode on the waves of pleasure.

"Now," he whispered, as he unbuckled his belt and lowered his pants, "you were saying?"

He slipped himself inside of her, cum lubricating his penetrance. She cried out again, both hands shot up to grab the sides of her pillow.

"Give me a minute, Tony –"

"Ain't got one, not now…"

He thrusted once, slow and deliberate. Her jawlines tensed visibly and Tony pulled out, enough that just the tip of his length remained within. Her chest was heaving, but traces of wanton lust still hovered behind her green irises. He pushed in again.

Soon they were a tangled mess of human flesh, bodily fluids and rumpled bedsheets. She was sated, but above all exhausted after all the things Tony had subjected her body to. But he was wide awake, and when the only movements in the bedroom that he detected were his own, he slid the blanket over his sleeping company and got out to use the bathroom downstairs.

Inevitably all that would soon be reallocated to a synapse of vague recollections amidst company meetings, field visits and research. Tony didn't even get her name.

Two days later Steve rang him up on his cell phone – the flamboyant, red and gold one. Rarely would people try to reach him in this fashion knowing that he favoured face-to-face if it was important, or no contact at all otherwise. And he only knew it was Steve – not counting the obvious "Steve R" a bright marquee across the screen – because only one person in the entire world was optimistic enough to call him on that number and expect him to answer. Still, it wasn't a call through the _other_ line, so in other words, not urgent. He ignored it. He tapped on the blueprint of "Long Island Refinery: West Wing". Steve was a really patient man, he had to give it to him. The call lasted as long as it could – until the pre-recorded phone operator rolled in – and Tony thought that would be the last of it, until his office phone rang the very next minute.

He sighed. Maybe it was urgent, after all?

Tony hadn't swung by the Avengers Tower in close to a month now. That was no doubt the longest stretch of absence from frontline duty. Or from seeing Steve. And the only reason Captain America wasn't on his ass threatening disciplinary action was a promise that if his participation was needed on any mission, he was ready. Of course Tony didn't have the courtesy to relay that message in person, so JARVIS played it as a pre-recorded voice mail in the presence of every Avenger. For whatever reasons JARVIS actually recorded Steve's reaction when he listened to it. Tony didn't order that, but he didn't call the AI out on it and watch all the same. To be honest, he was expecting some amount of disappointment from Steve. Maybe a small complain of "Typical" or "That self-seeking son of a bitch…"

"JARVIS, is Tony OK?"

Tony wasn't a deadbeat Avenger, to his defence. He might not be donning the Iron Man suit and painting the town red with everyone else but while he was playing house, he still had surveillance out on global terrorist (and outer space originated) threats. For the time being it sure looked like peace on earth. There were discount attacks and unrest at some corners of the world but nothing the other Avengers couldn't handle without his input. Conclusions of such skirmishes usually earned their five minutes infamy on the 8 o'clock news. Customarily it was Captain America who fielded the questions.

And Tony would watch Steve closely. He'd hang onto every word Steve said. And he'd be relieved that Steve was OK after every case.

He missed Steve.

"Sir, would you like to answer Captain Rogers' enquiry?"

"Later, maybe. Put that on Priority: Never. And bring up Blueprint #89, front and centre."

That night he returned to the bar, the one he'd been to every night for the past four days. And every day he'd picked up someone new. He never got their names right when he needed to say them the second time and they didn't care because he was Tony Stark. Everyone and everything sort of meshed into one after enough imbibition of alcohol and when he finally escorted them into his bedroom, neither cared that that was their one and only night together. The stint with the fourth chick was a bit different, but Tony didn't think he could fault her for it. She was drop dead gorgeous, had curves everywhere he liked them to be, but for the life of him he just couldn't get it _up_. Refusing to leave her hung out to dry he went down on her instead, petted her like she was his air, his anchor.

In a way she was. Between her moans of ecstasy, her twitches, the gush of cum when her _needs_ hit a crescendo, Tony held her close. He couldn't remember her name either, but he couldn't bear to let her go. Not for sex, no more, but that night, he needed someone just… to be.

He had to let Steve go, and God he was trying his darndest to let it go, let _him_ go, but he didn't think it would hurt this bad.

Tony didn't go back to the bar after that. Instead he worked harder, longer in his basement lab at home. Surprisingly this worked wonder. _Better_ than all the pointless sex he'd hooked himself with. And it was super productive. Just last night he'd upgraded all of the Avengers getup and the gauntlets on Mark VII. Only the Captain America suit remained untouched. Tony still couldn't bring himself to work on it.

Outside, things had gotten real quiet. Best time for superheroes to go on vacation. But that also meant no Steves to come onto the TV. This afternoon in the depth of his labs he beckoned for the hologram of Cap's suit, enlarged. Everything's got to start somewhere. So slowly, Tony highlighted the cowl and had that resized to its real-life proportion. Maybe he could replace the material with something more flexible, something that could stretch and fit snugly around Steve's head, something light, but resilient. Steve once complained how it itched all the times, especially if it was midday or they got to work somewhere hot.

The next call came through the Avengers line. Tony didn't miss a beat; he picked the monochromatically blackcell phone up.

"Tony?"

The billionaire wearily pinched the bridge of his nose. On this line he was always referred to as Iron Man. He sighed, "Steve. I thought you said the Avengers line is only for business."

"You never answer the other calls. I'm dialling your private number now. You better pick it up."

And he hung up. True to his words, the red and gold cell phone rang again. Tony wasn't going to get away with this one after all.

"Steve, now is really not a good time."

"Are you all right? You've been missing for two months."

"Not missing. I'm in Malibu, working. And it's more like a month and a half."

Steve went quiet, and Tony didn't like how it hung heavily between them. This was an uncommon moment when he had absolutely nothing to say, not one smartass one-liner to break the ice, and Steve was so quiet he could hear righteousness dripping on the other side. Or maybe he was thinking about how to effectively hand the third degree over a phone.

But Steve only said, "All right, that's good to know. Just checking in."

Tony didn't want the call to end.

"Get more rest while it's still quiet out there, Tony. Good night."

With that single resounding _click_ , Steve was gone.

The hologram of Cap's cowl was now rotating idly in air, electric blue outlines a stark contrast against the black depths of his lab. Every shred of logic in him told him it was wrong;this _feelings_ that transcended what was meant to be a highly charged but _platonic_ bond between brothers. He couldn't cross that. Not ever, because he knew it very well meant losing Steve for good. Steve wouldn't accept this, would he? He'd say this was wrong.

Because it is. Because it always has been.

And Tony braced the edge of his work table, his shoulders hunched. He'd never been lonelier, but most of all he missed Steve.

If JARVIS knew his master was crying, he didn't acknowledge it.

The past few years since he was on SHIELD's payroll – figuratively speaking, of course – Tony had quit many things. It was life changing. Booze, womanising, and being as impulsive as a four-year-old; traits that'd defined him for most of his adulthood. He'd quit them all because Steve asked him to. The day he declined an offer of beer from Natasha was the day the he learned that it was possible for the Avengers to shut up when congregating in the same room.

Of course everyonewassurprised. He didn't think he would ever say no to beer, too.

"You're gonna have to stop one day, Tony. You'll feel much better. Baby steps, all right? How about you stop hugging that bottle."

"No, thanks. Iniquity is heaven, Steve. You should try sinning sometimes."

Tony wasn't used to well-intentioned concerns. He didn't need them, so there is the door, please show yourself out. Steve only said one thing before he left, "You got to let it go, or it'll tear your life apart. You don't need these poison. You need a friend."

Sobriety and actually invested in a monogamous relationship (good God Pepper, why would she put up with him all the years?) was surprisingly not boring at all. It was fulfilling, it was blissful. It helped him focus, laser-sharp. He felt better, healthier. Happier than he'd ever been.

But not right now. Now he needed distractions. Loads of 'em. But the girls didn't help.

Picking up _guys_ was an entirely new monster. The first week he wanted to start out small, so he'd call up guys on this hotline for phone sex. In the beginning it was exhilarating, like getting on that new roller coaster ride, but after the first few times things had gotten a bit dreary. Voices didn't excite him anymore and Tony yearned the touch of actual flesh on flesh.

The second week he took things up a notch. He went anonymous. Fake name, fake facial hear, fake eye colour, every transaction in cash. They got to a hotel and there he had it, the sensation of having filled so tightly to the brim he thought he almost broke. His partner was patient and understanding. The sex was slow and sensual and absolutely nothing like Tony had imagined, and when he felt that telling spurt of warmth inside him, something else crumbled in his soul.

Money changed hands, and he kissed Tony one last time. Then he put on his trench coat and blended into the evening crowd of Los Angeles. At the turn of a junction he was gone. This rendezvous was different. Tony remembered his name.

For the rest of the week, it was a different man every other day. The Thursday one liked it rough. Tony was sore until Saturday that he was forced to rest his body from anymore sex, and that really put a dent on his pride. But it really was a different ball game altogether when he was playing bottom. Unluckily "Mr Saturday" had already gone through the trouble of rescheduling his weekend to coincide with one Mr Lockhart's, and this time Tony wasn't even going to take the effort to pretend. He told the guy to wait at a designated pick-up point, at which a cab would take him all the way to "Mr Lockhart", and that actually meant the Malibu mansion. Imagine his surprise at the sight of Tony Stark in person, waiting for him in the sitting room, paperwork and holograms strewn all over the place.

After several shots of scotch they retired to the office. Not exactly the best place to get laid, Tony would admit. He had several folders under his armpits and a pencil stuck behind his ears when he showed Mr Saturday the way. He pushed a tablet into the other guy's lap and apologised that he'd have to wait for another half an hour. As he finished up the sketches of a prototype satellite, they each kept to their own island, one still working feverishly and the other web-surfing to pass the time.

But Mr Saturday figured all these things didn't make good foreplay, or maybe he didn't like the idea of not doing his job while still getting paid by the hour, so he approached Tony as surreptitiously as he could, his smile nonchalant but unmistakably coy. Tony saw it coming from a mile of course, so he stowed his work in a drawer and turned his attention to the plush, waiting lips.

"Sir, the Captain is here. Shall I turn him away?"

Tony thought he heard JARVIS say something, and he wasn't sure because he was genuinely out of air, a string of saliva latching to his chin. Mr Saturday's breaths was hot against his throat, and he felt a teasing tug near the buckle of his belt. When a strong hand came down to cup him right at his crotch, he gasped, and he pulled the man in for another kiss.

"Sir, Captain Rogers has deactivated front door security with his personal access code. He is already within the premise."

Tony's shaft was a proud pole between his thighs. Mr Saturday lightly ran his hand along it, his playful grin widened as Tony shuddered at the touch.

"Sir! I must warn you, Captain Rogers is heading for this room."

That snapped Tony out of his lustful reverie. They both heard sturdy footsteps outside of the door. Flurry movements abound; Tony fixed his pants the best he could but the zipper got caught because Murphy's Law and Mr Saturday was just _standing there._ Exasperated, Tony shoved him under the table and put an index finger across his lips.

"Tony?"

The door swung open and he jerked back to sitting upright in his chair, ignoring the sensation of having the bottom of his gut wrenched out at the sight of Steve. He looked good, _better_ than he'd last seen him.

At least while living apart in different states, one of them could still be happy.

Steve broke into an earnest smile, one that he'd put on in the company of old, trusted friends, one that Tony had deeply missed. There was a loud, wooden rap from the table and Steve's keen eyes intuitively swept over the expanse of the room. Tony swore he almost got a heart attack. He kicked at Mr Saturday, hoping the idiot would shut up for at least five minutes. And then it struck him; what wrong was he doing that the first instinct was to hide all these from Steve?

"Steve, long time no see," Tony quickly greeted, and to his relieve, Steve stopped searching the room and even seemed to relax into their unarranged meet.

"You look fine," he blurted.

"Now, why the hint of surprise?"

"I was at the door for five minutes. JARVIS said you weren't responding and I thought you were in trouble."

Tony sensed minute movements under the table. For fuck's sake what was so difficult about staying still for a couple of minutes? Did the idiot want to get a glimpse of Captain America perhaps? If that so, then hell no, so Tony nudged at the man with his toes, urging him to _stop twitching._

"It's a long way from Manhattan, Steve. What brings you to West Coast?"

"Business. SHIELD intends to set up a base nearby so I'm here for site inspection. And since I'm already in the area I thought I'd drop by."

Then an appreciable amount of weight settled around his knees. As Steve looked suspiciously around the room again, Tony dared to steal a glance at his lap and to his horror, Mr Saturday was easing the pants down his legs. Again. Tony scooted the chair closer to the table so his stomach was almost pressing against the edge of it. He hoped against hope that Steve would keep his distance.

Steve's expression suddenly darkened. For that one horrible second Tony was certain they had been caught red-handed. He doubted those questionable noises from his side of the room could escape serum-enhanced hearing capabilities. Time to face the music. But Steve said sombrely, "You've been away for a long time, Tony. No notes, no news. JARVIS says you're fine, just busy with work. We're all worried for you."

Mr Saturday chanced a lick around the tip of Tony's already flaccid dick. He held the floppy mass to the side and ran his tongue along the shaft, from the balls to the end, just like how he did with his hand not too long ago. Tony stifled a gasp, and clinched at his chair. He felt himself hardening, even more so as Steve lay his gaze on him.

"I'm sorry it took me this long to come meet you. I've been meaning to, but SHIELD's getting a bit jittery with too much peace, imagine that. So we were all on-call for possible threats. But mostly we spend the days eating and playing cards."

"It's the proverbial calm before the storm."

"What Clint says. One cynic per team is enough, Tony."

"Mm-hmm."

He was painfully hard amidst all the earnest sucking his dick was subjected to, and there was a sick, thrilling eagerness in the way his lower abdomen coiled at the sound of Steve's mere voice and presence in the room. When he looked at Tony, the pleasure built up, and Tony was finding it more and more of a challenge to remain coherent and blasé about the actual circumstances.

Steve studied Tony from where he stood, a trace of worry returning to his handsome features. It should have pained Tony to see that, but under all the intensity of that gaze Tony could feel the tide of carnal desires looming before him. He yearned for _Steve's_ warmth and touches just as much as he dreaded them.

"OK, I'll let you get back to your work then. Call us some time when you're free?"

Not trusting to keep his voice steady, Tony nodded.

"Hope to see you soon. Take care of yourself."

By now Tony was hanging onto the final thread of self-control that the moment Steve's shadow left the door frame he tugged at Mr Saturday's bobbing head and _let go_. His hips jerked pleadingly into the sweltering mouth, his buttocks almost leaving the seat. He needed that release so bad, he felt his insides bruised at the force of the ejaculation. When Mr Saturday carefully pushed Tony's chair away as he climbed out of his hiding spot, Tony himself was a winded, immobile mess, spent in the throngs of pleasure.

His evening adventure soon faded into vague memories tinted with disgust and remorse. He was aware, _very_ aware of what he was thinking of when he was still engaged with that man. It was utterly disrespectful and filthy, and Steve didn't ask to be thought of like that. Back then his downstairs brain was telling him it was OK. He justified that it wasn't a conscious projection of thoughts. After all, Steve himself was standing in front of him, it was convenient and easy. Now alone in his bed, still all he could think of was Steve, the same Steve he'd willingly sullied.

No matter what he did, it was all spinning out of control. Tony couldn't bear to hurt anymore.

He pulled a clean piece of paper and started penning down his resignation from SHIELD and the Avengers.


	4. Chapter 4

_That's a fine looking high horse,_

 _What you got in the stable?_

 _We've a lot of starving faithful,_

 _That looks tasty,_

 _That looks plenty,_

 _This is hungry work._

"Tony, we got to talk."

"Really, right now?"

"Yes, right now."

"Can't a man take a piss in peace nowadays? Give me ten minutes, I'll be there right away."

Tony held his breath and sat still on the edge of the porcelain throne. His pants were on, his belt was on – he'd better remember to flush on the way out, too. All right, what harm could a little white lie do anyway? He knew he was being difficult (childish) for the nth time this week, he knew Steve deserved better, but he couldn't help it.

He'd since returned to the Tower after a rather uneventful run-in with the Crimson Dynamo. If anbody was going to be pedantic about it, yes, technically he was no longer an Avenger, so if a supervillain was threatening to blow the Tower apart, it was none of his business, but that was the Avengers Tower he was threatening, and Tony doesn't respond well to people demolishing _his_ stuff. Or what used to be his. So he came back to the fold (temporarily) and helped them all kick Crimson Dynamo's butt and exchanged high fives with all his bewildered-looking ex-team mates, ignored Steve, and zipped off to the penthouse.

The moment he slammed the door shut and leaned his back against it, Steve was already banging on it and shouting about the resignation letter.

Seemed like Fury vaporised it before he read it and had sent Captain America on his trail for an explanation.

Honestly, the friendship Tony and Steve shared was – Tony'd like to think – manly. Not clingy, or desperate, or needy. They'd spend a long stretch of time apart, sometimes that meant across two oceans and continents, and when they could finally be in the same locality again they'd catch up over supper.

Of course, that was _before._

Tony didn't think anything would change _after –_ as in, after he admitted what the illogical side of his brain (heart) was thinking (feeling) of Steve – because he didn't display it and Steve couldn't have known it. But just being around in the Tower on his fucking own packing away his personal items was proving to be quite a challenge these days with Steve hot on his heels. He'd only be safe when he locked himself up in the workshop or his private suite because then Steve would respectfully bow out and go back to minding his own business.

Perfect. Really.

A week into this game of hide-and-seek, Steve seemed ready to drop the niceties and was hell bent on talking to Tony. He'd actually cornered the scientist one bright morning, blocking the latter's way through a narrow hallway with his imposing physique. That took Tony by surprise because in all those years they'd known each other, Steve never used his physicality to intimidate others (unless they were supervillains). The shock must've registered on Tony's features because Steve's posture relaxed instantly, almost like he was crumpling into himself and he backed away. If he was apologising Tony didn't hear it; his own pulse was racing in his ears as he stalked off to the nearest bathroom.

Cue present time. Tony wasn't ready yet. Despite all the absence, his heart still ached when he lay eyes on Steve, and the yearning grew stronger each day. This ridiculous act had to end someday. Just not today.

Fortunately, his misery was cut short when the main bathroom door click open and then, close. No more banging on the door, no more calling names. He was entirely, all alone. Tony stopped cradling his head. Well, it was now or never. Time for the great escape. He unlocked his stall and clambered out into the glorious open space, only to find himself nose to nose with Steve Rogers.

Fuck.

"You're making this unnecessarily difficult for us both, Tony."

"Hmm, is something the matter?"

"Stop that, will you?"

Steve seized Tony gruffly by the elbow and jerked the other man to face him. The touch inexplicably sizzled and Tony grimaced. Steve let go, shades of shame colouring his visage.

"I'm sorry – I didn't mean to –"

"I know," Tony cut in, massaging at the bruise that was bound to blossom there. It couldn't compare to the ache gripping his heart, with Steve standing so close to him, just a breath away, yet so far even a touch, burned. "Excuse me."

"Wait!"

Tony stalked off and didn't look back. Short of bursting into a full-on sprint, he walked as fast his legs could carry him but he knew Steve would follow. He always does. When could he finally man up and put this entire fiasco behind him? It'd probably take a straight on confession to _Captain America_ and honestly, between that and the slumber party with the Ten Rings… there was no contest.

He didn't mean to leave the Tower – he'd still plenty of packing to get back to – but he did, because he'd surrendered all forms of thinking to his limbs and his limbs decided a long walk under the midday sun was a good idea. He emerged into the bustling New York crowd and Steve pushed past them, eventually catching up to Tony who was by now resolutely refusing to even look at him.

"What happened, Tony? You've been acting strangely for months."

"Oh, I haven't noticed."

"And what's with the resignation? Is something wrong? I'd like to help if I could, if you let me, but you got to talk –"

Tony took an abrupt turn to an alley, breaking away from Steve and the crowd. He heard Steve yelling for him over the hustle of the city but he ignored it like he always do, his pace quickened as he put more distance between them.

Coming back to New York had been a mistake after all.

"Wait up!"

Tony ventured deeper into the alley where the general feel of it somehow dwindled from frenzied to despicable. Sullied. Isolated. The crunch of asphalt under his dress shoes ricocheted against the mouldy walls on either sides of the narrow lane. Place wasn't safe; didn't look like it could afford security. This wouldn't do. Mentally he made a note to report this to the city council. The least these people could do was to install a bunch of CCTVs – oh, what was he thinking, it'd be faster if SI donated a truckload of Stark cameras to the cause.

A distant metallic _something_ clamoured to the ground and Tony halted dead in his steps. Then he heard a woman's scream – long and horrifying. He didn't think. He took off, deeper into the recesses of the grimy alleyway.

Just around the corner he spotted the trouble. A lone woman was half-standing by an upended trash can surrounded by four obviously good-for-nothing fucktards. Her sleeves were torn and her mascara a black smear down her cheeks. Tony's fists came to a tight grip by sides and he approached them, his strides confident, and whistled.

"Shame on you fellas if picking on a lady makes you feel like a man."

Four ugly heads bobbed in his direction. The lady gave a wet sob and pulled her shredded clothes tighter to herself. Tony jerked his head to the side, and she nodded, picked herself up and ran. One of the men started after her and Tony whistled again, snapping his fingers in desperation as he did so.

"Hey, I'm not done with you pussies yet."

It worked, and they advanced menacingly on him. Tony suddenly felt his necktie was shrinking, his collar too tight for comfort. OK, what was Plan B again?

They rained hits on him and Tony's body – much to his own surprise – moved fluidly around them. He dodged, pushed away, landed a couple of blows even and he realised he could do this after all. Guess all the blood and sweat spent in the gym had meant something. But four on one was hardly fair, and without the suit his endurance was barely adequate to last him through something as intense as this. The casing of his arc reactor in his chest was starting to feel constrictive and his breaths were coming in hitches. He'd got to end this quick. Get out – he couldn't hold out much longer.

His reflexes were dulling and he could see it, he could see the incoming punch but his muscles were lagging behind his wits. He couldn't respond. He readied himself to tank it, but before he could feel the impact something much faster, much stronger just slid past him.

"Can't stay out of trouble, can you, Tony?"

Steve grabbed the guy by the wrist and shoulder, bent it too far back till they heard something _snap._ Tony wheezed desperately, filling his lungs with much needed air. The split second respite was good. The back-up was good.

Steve surveyed their opponents swiftly before regarding Tony meaningfully, "Remember our lessons in the gym?"

Immediately their backs slammed into each other, their stance set and deadly. Their effective vision now doubled and they watched the remaining of their preys who'd taken to circling them, wary and livid. At such close a contact Tony felt the instant change in Steve's muscles; they both repelled in opposite directions, going after the closest target and Tony put all he had into his kick, he could almost hear the bones fracture under the PVC sole. They moved quickly, dispatching their targets with ferocity. They had an advantage here, the element of surprise. Steve joining the fray was unprecedented. Two of them looked like they actually recognise Captain America – the passing fear across their faces said enough – but above all, Tony felt alive. For the first time in ages, he felt comfortable being Tony Stark, moving around in his own flesh and skin. There they were together again, Winghead and Shellhead, back to back fighting the good fight. Good ol' times. Times Tony so cherished and missed.

White, hot pain flared from his right side as cold steel pierced into him, and when it was ruthlessly yanked out, it was wet, it was frighteningly numbing. In the vacuum of sensations Tony collapsed to his knees, blood gushed steadily from the gaping wound onto the asphalt. He held a hand shakily to his side, reeling in the spurt of pain upon contact, yet he still couldn't believe that was every second of his life slipping away. He vaguely registered himself tipping over, kind of comprehended that the towering figure above him was about to finish him off for good. That glinting metal with its treacherous edge bathing in blood, _his_ blood, poised for a final thrust. Then God help him, let it be quick.

In the blackness of sight he imagined a sudden rush of air. A cry of anguish. More snapping of bones and ligaments. He was phasing in and out of consciousness, switching between hot and cold, feeling and not feeling, and when he could work some sense of control into his body he opened his eyes. He could hear Steve, as clear as day.

"Tony, I got you. It's gonna be fine."

Those beautiful blue eyes were wet. That, Tony wasn't used to seeing. Captain America does not cry. Strong and silent Steve, _unbreakable_ Steve. Better people, better things were worth these tears. This was just… him. Tony chuckled, wet, and dread sunk deeper into the pit of his stomach when he tasted copper and felt it run down his chin. He closed his eyes. He couldn't bear it.

"Don't cry," he managed to gasp, stinging wetness blossoming behind his lids. He wasn't sure if it was the injury or Steve.

"I'm _not_ ," came the gritty reply. And silence. Steve trembled as he grasped the laying man closer to his chest. He shook the form gently, so still and silent. To Tony, talking had always been a free action. Effortless. He'd used words as both his sword and shield. Now he was lay bare, bleeding to his death in the arms of the one person he loved – _beginning_ to love – and words failed him.

Tony was fading.

"No, no, stay with me. You're not giving up. I won't let you!"

Steve was bowing low, his cheeks, his _wet_ cheeks – ha, Tony was so going to tattle on this – as he cradled Tony's almost lifeless body against his chest. Tony trembled at the proximity. He could see a single bead clinging to Steve's long lashes. It pained him even more so to see that. They were so close… Steve was so close… and Tony thought if he had a few minutes more to live, and if he was going to spend these minutes in Steve's arms, then forgive him for what he was going to do.

Weakly Tony rose, his chin tilted upwards as he claimed Steve's lips with his. He held onto the warmth, onto the memory. Let him have this. Let him remember the gentle brush of their kiss, the passing breath on his skin.

It ended as soon as it started. He broke it off, a crimson smudge on Steve's chin. He slumped into the embrace again. He dared himself to look up. He probably shouldn't, but he did anyway because he was stupid like that whenever it comes to dealing with Steve. What would he see? Disappointment? Anger? Confusion?

Surprise. Realisation. And a barely-there frown that said unmistakably, " _Sorry, Tony, I can't_."

Tony coughed wetly, each heave a jagged stab to his side. And he smiled.

"I thought so…"

Steve held him closer, so tightly it hurt, but Tony didn't know that. Steve called his name over and over again, over the siren of the ambulance and the sound of a gurney lowered beside him. Tony didn't know that either. An oxygen mask was strapped callously onto his face and there was lifting and hastened movements and Steve was still beside him, around him.

Tony didn't know anything anymore.

 _In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene,_

 _Only then I am human,_

 _Only then I am clean_

"Minor lacerations to the limbs, immediate attention required for a stab wound to the flank –"

"- gauze. Pulse and BP?"

"- possibility of stage one, hypovolemic shock –"

Steve rode with Tony in the cramped space that was the back of the ambulance. Red-stained bandages and clothes littering the vicinity was a stark contrast to the scientist's discoloured complexion. When the paramedic asked for his name, his birth date, and then more, and Tony didn't reply, Steve gripped his limp hand more securely, praying this wasn't going to be as bad as it looked.

Tony was going to be fine. He was always fine. Larger than life. Nothing ever put him down permanently.

Then someone eased his hand off Tony. A defibrillator was despatched. The hair on his back tensed while he watched in silent horror as Tony's back vaulted off the gurney, electricity massaging his heart to beat one more time. His own quivered.

He was losing Tony.

They repeated the horrible cycle of electrocution and each time, Tony bent in a back-breaking arch. The briefest touch of anxiety betrayed the team of medics and Steve suddenly felt a surge of anger. They weren't thinking of giving up, were they? The defibrillator went down again. Tony's head lolled boneless to his side, the oxygen mask over his face misty with respiration. And something must've worked, because there was a collective sigh of relief and they started trading updates on Tony's vitals again.

Steve didn't realise his own tears falling to his cheeks as he took Tony's hand in his again.

 _Take to me to church,_

 _I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies,_

 _I'll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife,_

 _Offer me that deathless death,_

 _Good God, let me give you my life!_

Eight hours had passed since Tony was wheeled out of ICU to this private suite. Four hours since the last visit from the doctor. Two more hours to sunrise.

Steve hadn't slept a wink.

He sat in vigil by Tony's bed, his shoulders hunched as he waited. Tony was going to wake soon, and when he did Steve didn't want it to happen in an empty room. The rest of the Avengers were alerted of the incident and the scientist's latest status. Those who were still on American ground and off-duty had promised to take the earliest flight available down to New York. Bruce was going to fly in from India.

There was still several good hours before any showed up. And until then, Steve was going to be here for Tony.

When the first ray of morning sun shone through the clear panes, Tony stirred. Steve heard the shift in the breathing and straightened in his seat.

"Steve…"

The super soldier was by the bedside in an instant, his hand seeking Tony's frigid one. He gripped tightly.

"You're OK, Tony. You're going to be OK."

"Steve, I'm sorry."

With utmost difficulty, Tony peered through heavy lids and took in the concern and the attention Steve was giving.

"So sorry…"

He couldn't do this after all.

The first drop of tear escaped the tail of his eye and he turned away into his pillow. Steve looked like he'd been stabbed in the gut himself, the ache so blatant on his visage. And then it was pain, raw and physical in his side under the thick layers of bandages that stole more tears from him. He choked. He couldn't breathe.

"Easy, Tony. Calm down, we'll sort this out together. I'm not gonna leave you."

His fingernails dug deep into Steve's palm. He gasped, and Steve cupped the side of his jaws.

"Oh God, are you hurting – painkillers – somebody… "

He fumbled for a tiny remote with a red button on it; the call button that would alert the staff on-call of a patient's distress. His thumb hovered over it when Tony caught him clumsily around the wrist.

"Don't."

"But you're –"

"Please. I need to know this is real."

Steve held him as Tony rode on his pain. Steve kept him grounded, made good on his words. He didn't let go. As Tony wallowed in the depth of his misery, he realised this was all he needed, that this was enough. To stand beside Steve, to be with him.

This was enough.

As fatigue and sleep lay claim on his consciousness, he turned to Steve once more. The set of blue eyes, as always, pierced right through him. And this time, the first in a long while, he found solace in them.

" _You can't love me, Tony."_

" _And you can't stop me."_


End file.
